Atlantis Revisited
by AmericanPatrol
Summary: The last time I watched Atlantis, I couldn't help but think about how the story would be different if there were a female character from the beginning. Enter Eleanor Cooper! She's the granddaughter of Mr. Whitmore (Milo's investor) and joins Milo and the gang on their quest to find Atlantis. A retelling of the movie, "Atlantis: The Lost Empire" with an OC.
1. Chapter 1

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. First off, I'd like to thank this board for taking the time to hear my proposal."

Although Milo Thatch had probably practiced his presentation for the Smithsonian Board of Directors 1,000 times, he was still a little nervous. This was, after all, the first time he had presented for an audience.

He had to convince to board to fund a trip - a quest, really - to find the lost city of Atlantis. The lifelong dream of Milo's grandfather, Thaddeus Thatch, was to find Atlantis. It was all Milo heard growing up. Now the dream was as much his as it had been his grandfather's.

Before he could find Atlantis, he'd need to find the Shepherd's Journal. It was, as his grandfather told him, a first-hand account of the whereabouts of Atlantis. If he had the journal, he'd be able to lead the trip to Atlantis.

"I plotted the route that will take myself and a crew to the southern coast of Iceland to retrieve the journal."

As he pointed to the map, his clock chimed 4 times. He stopped the presentation and caught his breath. Half an hour to the presentation.

"How was it? Did I rush?" he asked.

Eleanor Cooper, his friend and fellow Atlantis enthusiast sat in front of him in an otherwise empty seating arrangement. She wore a bowler cap in order to look more like Mr. Harcourt of the board.

"No, it was perfect. They'd be fools not to fund this," she said, removing the cap.

_Whosh_!

A message came through the tube. Milo unfolded it and read the note aloud.

"Dear Mr. Thatch, this is to inform you that your meeting today has been moved up from 4:30 P.M to 3:30 P.M."

Eleanor stood up and took the note from Milo's hands.

"What? But it's just after 4…"

_Whoosh!_

Down came another note. Too stunned to grab it, Milo looked at his map of Iceland. Eleanor took the second note and read it.

"Dear Mr. Thatch, due to your absence…the board has voted to reject your proposal!"

At the word "reject," Milo snapped to action. He gathered his charts hastily.

"They can't do this to me!" he screamed and ran toward the door. Eleanor collected the notes and followed quickly.

Milo's legs were longer than Eleanor's and, besides, he didn't have to worry about a long skirt. She struggled to keep the loose notes in her arms while sweeping her skirt away from her feet. Milo rounded a corner just as she dropped the section of the presentation about the Iceland exploration.

"Golly, Eleanor," she chided herself. "Can't you do anything right?"

As she gathered the notes, a family taking a tour asked her about one of the paintings on the wall. Eleanor was always eager to help guests - it wasn't often that she had the opportunity to do it. Mr. Harcourt frequently reminded her that her job was to sit and look pretty at the front desk. In fact, he had told her just this morning that she couldn't possibly know what she was talking about, so she should just keep quiet.

_Oh, if only I had the courage to stand up to that bully_, she'd said to herself. But now, as she lead a mini tour around the hall of paintings, she felt a sense of satisfaction.

Eleanor finally met up with Milo at closing time. She was surprised to find him dripping wet.

"What happened to you?" she asked. "Decide to take a swim?"

"Hah," he grumbled. "It's a long story."

Milo walked past her and toward the boiler room, taking the notes from her arms and thanking her as he did.

"I've got time," she suggested. She had to look down to keep from slipping in the puddles quickly forming at Milo's feet.

"I don't," he replied. "I have to pack my things. I resigned."

"What?!"

But she didn't get an answer. Milo shut the door to the boiler room and bolted it behind him. She knocked gently, but when she got no reply, she gave up and left. If she didn't know any better, she'd say that she heard weeping on the other side of the door.


	2. Chapter 2

After talking to Mr. Gibson - another member of the board - Eleanor found out that the board had no intention of accepting Milo's proposal. They told him that Atlantis didn't exist and that he was just wasting his time, just like Thaddeus Thatch. That must have struck a nerve with Milo. After all, he idolized his grandfather for following his dreams all his life.

Eleanor looked at the locket around her neck that her own grandfather had given her for her 16th birthday. In it was a picture of the two of them, smiling. She knew that carrying on her grandfather's dream was important, just as it was for Milo and Thaddeus.

_Milo can't give up just yet,_ she thought as she raced home.

"I'm home. Fluffy?"

Milo set his bags down and called for his cat. Fluff was a coward when it came to thunder, so he was prepared for a hunt to find her. What he didn't expect to find was a well-dressed woman sitting in his chair.

"Milo James Thatch?" she asked in a smooth, low voice.

Milo gulped. The woman obviously knew him, although he had never seen her before in his life.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?"

She rolled her eyes and rose to look out the window.

"I came down the chimney. Ho ho ho."

He didn't laugh. Although she was the stranger in his house, the woman seemed oddly comfortable. She didn't threaten him or appear to have stolen anything, so Milo felt that he didn't need to call for help…yet.

"My name is Helga Sinclair. I'm acting on behalf of my employer who has a most intriguing proposition for you. Are you interested?"

_Interested?_ Milo thought. _I'm fascinated! What kind of employer sends a strange woman into their potential worker's house to tell them about the job? _

"Your…your, your employer? Who is your employer?"

"The tea is ready, Miss Cooper!" called Anna. "Shall I bring it to you?"

Eleanor set her brush down and swept her hair up into a bun as she called back to the maid.

"There's no need, Anna. I'll come and get it."

"Very good, ma'am."

After a once over in the mirror, Eleanor deemed herself ready to go downstairs. Although she was not a vain girl, she wanted to look her best whenever company was around. It was one of the few habits her mother had passed down to her. That, of course, was before American boarding school and illness took over the family…

"You look just like your mother, Ellie."

Eleanor's grandfather leaned in the doorway. She turned and smiled at him. He grinned back at her, and then looked at the clock on her mantle.

"Oops! My client will be here any time now," he said with a wink.

Eleanor loved her grandfather dearly. It was hard to believe that she didn't know him at all when she came to America, considering that they were now in such close confidence. He, admittedly, was quirky, but she blamed that on a combination of his wealth and loneliness.

_No matter, _she thought, dismissing any dwellings on the eccentricity of her grandfather. _He's a good businessman and that's all that matters._

Anna, the family maid suddenly appeared in the doorway. She bowed hastily.

"Good heavens, Anna! What's wrong?"

"Oh, it's only that…well…"

The girl looked at her feet and struggled to find words. Eleanor, as always, was patient.

"The gentleman has arrived."

Ms. Sinclair led Milo to an extravagant mansion. By this time, the sun was completely set and the rain had not stopped in hours. It was all becoming a bit ominous.

"How did you say your employer found me?" he asked timidly.

"I didn't."

Ms. Sinclair then held the door open for Milo, ushering him quickly into the foyer.

"This way, please. And don't drip on the Caravaggio."

Milo couldn't believe his eyes. He knew that he'd never again see a house as grand as this one. A suit of armor to his left caught his eye. He wandered over to it, looking for a description plate.

"Step lively," Ms. Sinclair snapped. "Mr. Whitmore does not like to be kept waiting."

She pushed aside a velvet curtain to reveal an elevator cage.

_Of course there is an elevator in this house,_ Milo laughed to himself.

As the door of the elevator closed, Ms. Sinclair turned to face him.

"You will address him as 'Mr. Whitmore' or 'Sir.' You will stand unless asked to be seated. Keep your sentences short and to the point. Are we clear?"

Milo was speechless.

"And relax. He doesn't bite…often."


	3. Chapter 3

Ms. Sinclair pushed Milo out of the elevator and shut the door swiftly behind him. Alarmed, he turned around and caught sight of her gently waving at him before she disappeared into the floor. Milo had never felt more alone.

The room he had been left in was tall and dark. A fish tank of some sort spanned almost an entire wall. Opposite the tank was a fireplace with a massive painting above it. It depicted two men, shanking hands. One of the men in the painting bore a striking resemblance to Milo's grandfather.

"Grandpa?" he said aloud, as though the painting should respond to him.

"Finest explorer I ever met," answered a voice from the darkness.

Milo jumped and searched for the source of the voice. A small man with tufts of white hair sat cross-legged on a mat by the fireplace. He introduced himself as Preston Whitmore while doing various yoga poses.

"Did you really know my grandfather?" Milo asked. He winced as Mr. Whitmore cracked his toes.

"Oh, yeah. Met old Thaddeus back in Georgetown. Class of '66. We stayed close friends 'til the end of his days."

Milo felt more at ease since the man, although strange, knew his grandfather. He glanced up at the painting again and smiled.

"Thatch was crazy as a fruit bat, he was. He spoke of you often," continued Mr. Whitmore.

"Funny. He…he never mentioned you."

"Oh, he wouldn't," Mr. Whitmore laughed, turning over and lifting himself into a handstand. His robe flopped down over his face. "He knew how much I liked my privacy. I keep a low profile-"

"Mr. Whitmore, should I be wondering why I'm here?" Milo interrupted. The since of peace he'd felt moments before was quickly melting into frustration.

"Look on that table," Mr. Whitmore said. He climbed off his mat and walked behind a changing screen.

On the small table next to Mr. Whitmore's yoga mat was a large rectangular parcel. It was addressed to Milo. He gasped quietly and picket it up.

"It's…it's from my grandfather."

"He brought that package to me years ago. He said if anything were to happen to him, I should give it to you when you were ready," said Mr. Whitmore. He poked his head out from behind the screen and added "whatever that means."

Nervous, Milo unwrapped the parcel. Inside, he found a book with a swirled insignia on the top. He could hardly breathe.

"It can't be," Milo said, looking at the painting of his grandfather once more. "It's the Shepherd's Journal."

Eleanor positioned herself behind the fish tank. She was trying to decide when to make an appearance. This evening was not about her, but she knew that as soon as she revealed herself, the dynamics would change.

_Be gentle, Grandpa_, she thought desperately. _Don't scare him away._

She listened to the conversation through the glass, only catching a few words.

"…a fake."

"My grandfather would have known…I will stake everything…"

Eleanor rolled her eyes. This hiding place would not work. She stepped around the fish tank and settled herself behind a fern in a tall pot. She felt as though she were a little girl again, playing hide-and-seek with her grandfather.

"I'll get funding. I mean, I'll…the museum!" Milo stuttered. She could tell that he was once again fueled by the passion for Atlantis that he'd had earlier that day.

"They'll never believe you," Grandpa said calmly. She could see his smirk through the leaves.

Milo only faltered for a minute.

"I'll show them. I will make them believe!"

"Like you did today…"

"Yes! Well, no. How did you…" Milo stopped. "How did you know about that?"

Eleanor held her breath. She could hardly hear over the blood rushing to her ears.

"Your grandfather wanted me to give you that package when you were ready," Grandpa started. He raised out of the chair and looked into the fish tank. "How would I know when you were ready if I didn't keep an eye on you?"

"You mean…you mean you've been spying on me?"

That was her cue. Eleanor rose and stepped out from behind the fern. Milo was so angry, though, that he didn't even see her.

"No, Milo," she said hesitantly. "_I've _been spying on you."


	4. Chapter 4

Milo and Mr. Whitmore stopped and turned their eyes to Eleanor. She braced herself for what Milo would inevitably say.

"Eleanor! What is going on here?" He flung his arms in the air in exasperation. "Someone, please explain!"

Eleanor looked to her grandfather for prompting. To her surprise, he was looking expectantly at her.

"Well…" she started, faltering as she looked at Milo. "I…I happened to meet you at the Smithsonian and I thought your name sounded familiar. When I told my grandfather," she gestured to Mr. Whitmore. "He told me everything he just told you. I became Grandpa's eyes and ears at the Smithsonian. I just reported your progress on Atlantis until, today, he said that you were ready."

"Almost ready," Mr. Whitmore corrected.

Milo and Eleanor were both surprised.

I'm sorry, Milo, but I can't let you go with that journal until you can tell me just how you're going to get to Atlantis. And don't say the museum because we already established that they'd never give you the funds."

Eleanor shot a dirty look at her grandfather, but he wasn't paying her any attention. He smiled smugly at Milo.

"Forget about them!" Milo exclaimed. "I will find Atlantis on my own. I mean, if I have to rent a rowboat…"

"Congratulations, Milo," interrupted Mr. Whitmore. "That is exactly what I wanted to hear. But forget the rowboat, son. We'll travel in style."

He leaned forward and pressed a button on the table. A trapdoor opened and a miniature submarine rose out of it. The detail on the craft was incredible.

"Why?" Milo asked gently, picking up a model balloon from the side of the sub.

Mr. Whitmore picked up a stack of papers and addressed Milo with a tinge of nostalgia. "For years your granddad bent my ear with stories about that old book," he began. Eleanor had heard the story a thousand times before. Her eyes and attention became focused on the papers in her grandfather's hands.

_Don't look through them!_ She urged him silently.

As she hoped, Mr. Whitmore did not look through the papers. In fact, he flipped through them quickly and set them back down on the table. Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief.

"Your grandpa was a great man. You probably don't realize how great," said her grandfather. He had moved in front of the fireplace and was looking at the picture of himself with Thaddeus. He shook his head slightly before turning his gaze to the flames before him.

"If I could bring back just one shred of proof, that'd be enough for me. Ah, Thatch," he whispered sadly. Suddenly, he turned around, bright-eyed. "What are we standing around for? We've got work to do!"

_Showtime_, Eleanor thought grimly.

"You know, in order to do what you're proposing, you're going to need a crew!" Milo exclaimed. He began to count on his fingers. "You'll need engineers and…and geologists…"

"Got 'em all," Mr. Whitmore assured him. "The best of the best."

Returning to his stack of papers, Mr. Whitmore spread the documents out before Milo. Each was a typed resume with a portrait paper clipped to the corner.

"Gaetan Moliere, Vincenzo Santorini, Audrey Ramirez," he began, pointing to each portrait in the line up. When he got to the picture of a doctor, his voice trailed off.

"What?" Milo asked, but Eleanor already knew.

Mr. Whitmore picked up a document that had been partially covered by Helga Sinclair's resume. On it was a portrait of Eleanor herself.

"You're on the crew?" asked Milo excitedly.

"Of course," she replied with all the confidence as she could muster. It wasn't much.

"Atlantis is waiting. What do you say?" Mr. Whitmore asked Milo, though his eyes did not leave Eleanor. His voice had lost its jolly tone and was now rigid.

"I'm your man, Mr. Whitmore. You will not regret this!" he tottered happily out of the room.

"I hope not," Mr. Whitmore mumbled toward Eleanor. "You and I are talking about this. Now."

"I'm going."


End file.
